


Caged Song

by Sweetie_T



Category: Phantom of the Opera
Genre: Cage, Comfort, Could be reader insert, F/M, No Smut, Pet Play but not explicit, Submissive OFC, unnamed ofc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 02:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetie_T/pseuds/Sweetie_T
Summary: The clang of the door and the rattle of the lock brought a great comfort to her. She was safe here. She was warm. He passed her bread and water through the slats and she was fed.He played for her again. And she was home.





	Caged Song

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been playing around with this one for ages, and decided it was finally ready. ❤️

She woke to a rumble. The ground shaking. It paused for an instant before vibrating again. Something vast and almost alive breathed beneath her. But, oddly, rather than terror she felt only comfort.

Another tremor caught her attention, this time from inside her body. She shivered. Her teeth chattered. She cringed from the cold. Her hip and shoulder hurt, what felt like dull knives cutting into her.

She reached out and felt a grid of wire. A cage. Surrounded by the walls of a cage.

The rumbling met a higher tone, and the both began to dance and play. Music. A bass line and a melody. So beautiful she forgot how to breathe.

She felt no fear. Something about the music made her feel safe. Warm despite the chill. She remained silent in deference to the melody.

At last opening her eyes she realized that she indeed lay on her side in a wire cage, big enough for her to stretch out full or to sit up tall had she the inclination.

The wet and filthy silk of her dress tangled about her legs and added to the slight chill in the air rather than shielding her from it. She shivered again.

Just as she turned her head seeking the source of the music the comforting tune ceased. It was then she saw him for the first time. The composer, body poised before a massive pipe organ, clad in fine black fabric, white sleeves ending just above long-fingered, perfectly tapered hands. And his face...

Blue eyes bored their way into her psyche. No one had ever looked at her that way before. She could see an ocean in those eyes. Fire, longing, sadness, anger, fear. More still. Shifting endlessly until she felt dizzy.

“Awake at last.” And then that voice, like spiced honey drizzled over her mind. “It’s about time. I had almost thought you drowned before I could fish you from my lake.”

He came to her with a swish of a cloak, a key on a chain around his wrist unlocking the cage. He held open the door expectantly but she lay there, baffled as to what exactly he expected from her.

So she gazed up at him and awaited his command.

He pulled her bodily from her wire shelter and held her against the mass of him with one strong hand encircling her upper arm. Her feet were hopelessly entangled but still she tried to support some of her weight.

They stood for an eternal moment, bodies pressed close, his warmth penetrating her chill, their eyes locked in a kind of silent battle.

His gaze harsh and demanding, hers yielding. His fire and hers snow. He burned into her and she melted for him.

And then for an instant she found herself flying. He flung her easily behind him and she landed in a nest of soft cushions and softer blankets. His bed.

“Take off your dress before you soil my sheets irreparably.” He commanded softly, and she raced to obey, tearing the fabric of the long skirt when it stubbornly refused to release her legs.

And then she lay bare before him. Somehow warmer now than before in the wet silk. His eyes took her in from tip to toe, ravenous in their perusal, but she felt no fear. And she felt no shame.

She belonged to him.

His gaze returned to her face and he seemed to realize her submissive state of mind and it unsettled him greatly. He grabbed her arm again and set her on her feet, their gazes clashing once more before he tore the cushions and covers from his bed and flung them into her cage.

He stared pointedly inside and she obeyed his unspoken request, climbing in.

The clang of the door and the rattle of the lock brought a great comfort to her. She was safe here. She was warm. He passed her bread and water through the slats and she was fed.

He played for her again. And she was home.

——

She woke to a clatter and a sound of glass smashing. His rage vibrated in the very air but she stayed calm. She felt nothing but safe, protected inside her cage. She pulled the covers closer about her and simply watched his anger burn itself out.

He finally stopped throwing and destroying his possessions and he glanced at her, eyes widening a bit as if he had just that instant remembered he had company. Her fingers went to the wire without her conscious thought and she reached for him.

She watched his internal battle as he fought to decide his next course of action.

He came to her like a storm, turbulent and unyielding, unlocking and wrenching open the door to her nest, pulling her harshly from the warm confines and rough against his body.

“Why have you come here?” He demanded harshly, though she had no words to answer him.

Truthfully she felt herself reborn the moment she first awoke here. Everything before faded like a dream. Or a nightmare. Now she barely remembered her old name. All she knew for certain, she belonged here. She belonged to him.

He growled softly as she held fast to her silence. Something shifted in his hands... soft leather and a glint of metal. She remained perfectly still as he fitted the collar around her throat and affixed a heavy chain to the ring at the front, his movements slow, his eyes never leaving her once, as if continually ensuring her consent.

Her chest filled with a strange warmth and sense of pride; She felt treasured. He secured the length of chain to his pipe organ and spread his cloak on the hard ground. She knelt at his feet as he began, yet again, to play.

——

Hours she listened to him compose, content to lounge beside him. At first kneeling stiffly, unsurely. Then sitting, laying down for a quick nap, and now kneeling again, this time with her cheek pressed gently against his knee.

The music fought him, making him chase the melody and he never quite worked it out. She felt the tension fill him.

Soon so frustrated he shook, he slammed his hands down, brutally smashing the keys of his beloved instrument.

She tried to calm him, stroking his thigh, kissing his knee. And then she began to sing. Wordlessly and quite softly. She closed her eyes and let the tune play through her soul.

And then his hand settled in her hair. Tender and reverent, petting her head and making her purr.

And at last he began playing again. And where before the melody had him hopelessly stuck, now he continued to play, her sweet music the perfect finale to his masterpiece.

**Author's Note:**

> In college a writing instructor had us write an entire paper without using the verb “to be”. It was challenging but it made my writing richer and it got me thinking more about word choice.
> 
> Just for an exercise I tried doing that here, with a few exceptions where I especially liked the way the words sounded together.


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